Rise of the Nords
by Counternet
Summary: It began on a cold night, the first night of the New Year. Seven Jarls, representing the nine holds of Skyrim meet to discuss the oncoming onslaught of the Dunmer. Sykrim has already been ravaged by war, and some propose taking the fight to the Dunmer. But others urge caution. Can the Nords throw off the chains of the Dominion? Can they finally be free? Set 650 years after Skyrim.
1. The War Council

The snow swirled outside Dragon's Reach, as Barca, Son of Baal, son Belial, son of Balthor took his seat. The fire crackled loudly, bathing the room with light, but not heat. Or at least, not enough heat so it seemed to the eighty-eight year old Jarl, who shivered as the council meeting commenced. But he had not displaced Jarl Balgruuf XV of his throne at the head of the hall because he was the oldest Jarl, but because he was also High King of Skyrim. Although, it hadn't been all that long ago that Barca had been Regent of Whiterun.

Striding through the open doors appeared the Jarl of the Rift, Ulfric. He had been named after the leader of the failed Stormcloak rebellion, six-and-a-half centuries prior. Barca didn't consider Ulfric Stormcloak a hero, like the Jarls of the Rift and Eastmarch; it was the Stormcloak's war that had weakened Skyrim enough for the Aldmeri to subdue it. Ulfric refused to bow Barca, refused to bow to his king. Ulfric blamed Barca for his three years imprisoned in Cyrodiil. But to let Ulfric push him towards anger would only result in an unfavorable outcome for the evening's discussion.

Ulfric had been the last to arrive. Now, seated in a semicircle, with Barca as the point, were the seven Jarls who represented the nine holds of Skyrim. It was time to begin the debate.

"As you know, there are several especially important matters before us today. The most pressing is Jarl Ulfric's. The throne recognizes Ulfric."

Ulfric rose. "As you know, two-and-a-half years ago, our High King defeated an army of the Dunmer outside the walls of Windhelm. He massacred it. One hundred twenty thousand dead elves were left in his wake. There were no survivors. And for revenge, Morrowind is raising an army unlike anything the world has seen since the days of Tiber Septim. And they're coming for us."

Ulfric paused, letting his message sink in. "But they're not ready yet. Our best intelligence indicates it will be another eight months before the dark elves are ready to strike. We need to hit them now before they are ready. We need to smash them in their camps."

A moment of silence wafted through the room before Barca quietly responded to Ulfric. "With what men should we attack the elves?"

"With the united armies of Skyrim" Ulfric replied. "The Nords have broken the elves, and we'll do it again."

"Where will you get these armies of Skyrim?"

"From the holds, just as in times past."

"Jarl Ulfric, how many warriors do your reports indicate the Dunmer have?"

"Half-a-million"

"And how many men do you have?"

"Forty-five thousand. But I won't be alone. The Jarls of Skyrim will stand with me."

"Jarl Rikke, how many soldiers can you muster?"

Jarl Rikke was a young woman, one-and-twenty, and daughter of the Jarl who had fallen in the Siege of Solitude. "Ten thousand"

"And you, Jarl Gunther?"

Gunther II was also young, just six-and-twenty. His father, Gunther, had fallen in the second stage of the war against the Dominion, nineteen years ago. "Thirty-five hundred"

"Jarl Balgruuf?  
Balgruuf XV was two-and-twenty, and likewise had been orphaned by the Aldmeri. Barca had raised him, and ruled for him until he came of age. "Six thousand"

"Jarl Assengar?"

Assengar was nine-and-fifty, and had spent his entire adult life fighting the Aldmeri. He had been two-and-twenty when Barca had begun his war, and Assengar had served admirably. He was now the Jarl of both Haafingar and Falkreath. "Haafingar can raise four thousand. Falkreath has no adult males above the age of eight. And I don't know why we are sitting here discussing the Dunmer. It is the Khajjit who need to pay."

"What about the Altmer?" Balgruuf shouted, before Barca could reign in the council. Balgruuf tried to continue, but Hamilcar bellowed over him, "What about the Argonians?"

"At least the Argonians took prisoners." Balgruuf yelled back. "Rorikstead, Dragonbridge, and any peasants the Altmer found along the way to Solitude are gone."

"The Khajjit killed every male in Falkreath over the age of five." Assengar inserted quietly. "An entire generation of men in Falkreath will grow up without fathers. It will be eight more years before Falkreath has any kind of army. We must avenge this travesty."

"The Argonians killed the Greybeards." Hamilcar inserted. "The Greybeards must be avenged."

"Enough" said Barca. He spoke quietly, but everyone in the room felt the force of the word like a physical blow, shoving them back into their seats. "We will now continue this council in a civil manner. Jarl Hamilcar, how many men do you have at your disposal?"

Hamilcar was also older, eight-and-forty, and was the Jarl of Hjaalmarch and the Reach. He was also a Thane of Haafingar, Prince of Skyrim, heir to the seat of Winterhold, and the heir of a Thane of Whiterun. He was Hamilcar, son of Barca, son of Baal, son of Belial, and probably the most influential of all the Jarls.

"Hjaalmarch can summon nine thousand men, and the Reach can do the same."

"I tell you" Barca replied, "Winterhold has no males above the age of thirteen. Winterhold can be of no help on your excursion to Morrowind."

"This, however, I can tell you", Barca continued, "If Ulfric succeeds in convincing the rest of you to go along with this invasion of his, I can tell you what that will mean for Skyrim's future. The Bretons of High Rock will take their force home, and declare neutrality. The Imperials of Cyrodiil will declare war, though they won't actually show up. The Redguards of Hammerfell will attack Falkreath. The Orcs will declare war, and attack the Reach. The Argonians will once again attack the Rift, and the Khajjit will once again fall on Helgen. Not to mention the half-million dark elves who will fall on Eastmarch. And you want to fight all of them. We will have less than one-fifth of the Dunmer's numbers alone."

"But if you wait, if we let Tamriel see the Dark Elves as the aggressors, the sides will be drastically different. The Bretons of High Rock will come to our aid. The Imperials of Cyrodiil will come to our aid. The Redguards of Hammerfell will send us provisions and weapons. The Orcs will still declare war on behalf of the Dominion, but they won't actually come. They are tired of fighting elven wars. The Khajjit won't be able to get to Skyrim because our allies, the Imperials will block all roads from Elsweyer. The Argonians will still come to the Dunmer's aid, but they will have to go through Morrowind because of the Imperials, which will slow them down. So I ask you: which would you rather have: three races against two in our favor, or the Nords against five races?"

"For two-and-a-half centuries, the Imperials have served the Aldmeri; the Orcs for even longer and the Bretons for almost as long." Ulfric replied. "What makes you think they will abandon the elves now?"

"For one hundred fifty years the Nords served the Aldmeri. And when Winterhold rebelled almost forty years ago, no holds joined it. In fact, in many of your fathers stood against me and my father." Barca responded. "Yet even alone, we broke the siege of our hold. And because Jarl Gunther I of Eastmarch and Jarl Ulric of the Pale saw weakness in the Dominion, they joined Winterhold for the second war. And when we won again, the rest of your fathers joined our cause. And then we fought and won a third war."

"Three times the Elves have tried to dispossess us of our land, and three times we have beaten them off. When the Dominion subdued us, we were the weaker party. No race, save the cats, willingly ceded autonomy. But the Dominion was strong. And we were not unified. But now, the Dominion is weak. And the other nations will sense this, no, the other nations have sensed this weakness, and they will rise up and destroy the Dominion."


	2. Nimriel

Through the small window in his room at the Bannered Mare, Barca observed the sun just cresting the horizon. Last night's council had stretched on into the wee hours of the morning, and he had only slept for three hours. The council was due to resume in another. Against his wishes, the council had voted to go to war. But every Jarl had his own ideas about where the armies should march, and who should lead them. It was going to be a messy day.

Barca left the inn, and spent a good while milling about the Whiterun. He saw walked past the Hall of the Companions, where legendary feats of valor were commonplace. He saw the houses of Clan Battleborn and Graymane, bloodlines now so mixed it was hard to tell where one clan ended and the other began. We visited the temple and stood on the wall. And it was from the wall that the day turned from beautiful to darker than any moment in the war. From the wall, he saw five bodies hanging from a tree outside of town.

"Guard" he called. Immediately, one materialized. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the tree.

"I don't know, Your Majesty. My watch started just a half-hour ago."

"Get me a horse. And go fetch the Jarl."

"Which one, sire?"

"Balgruuf. Your Jarl."

And off the guard went, speeding away from the High King, who sat and stared at the bodies hanging from the tree.

The horse arrived before Balgruuf. When Balgruuf finally did arrive, he had brought Hamilcar with him. Hamilcar was like Balgruuf's older brother. When Barca had been Regent of Whiterun, it had been impossible to pull the young Balgruuf from Hamilcar's side, even though Hamilcar was old enough to be his father. Before Hamilcar had his first child, just last year, Balgruuf had been Hamilcar's heir.

"What is it, father?" Hamilcar asked. "Why did you call us from the meeting?"

"Follow me" Barca said.

He began to trot down to the city gate, the two Jarls following on foot. There were few people out and about in the gray morning light. Those they did pass eyed them and cast wary glances. The only thing rarer than a horse inside the city walls was two Jarls following the rider on foot.

As they neared the city gate, they heard the sound of a child crying down one of the alleys. The two Jarls were unconcerned; children cried when they were caught doing something against their parent's wishes. In fact, Hamilcar's son cried whenever an opportunity presented itself. Eat, cry, poop: that's what children did. But Barca dismounted, and began to walk down the dirty, deserted alley.

At alley's end, there was a dirty, disheveled Bosmer girl. Barca guessed her age to be about nine or ten. Upon seeing them, the girl darted down the alley, but upon finding it dead-ended into the city wall, she crumpled into a heap and began to wail. Barca approached her, and knelt.

"Don't cry, little one" he said. "The day is new."

The elven girl stiffened when he started to speak, but she visibly softened when she heard the tenderness in his voice. But the crying didn't stop.

"What is your name?" Barca asked.

"Nimriel" the child sniffed.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl"

Tears continued to fall, but the child stopped sniveling.

"Are you hungry, Nimriel?"

There was no answer.

"I have a Long-Taffy Treat in my saddlebags. Would you like it?"

The child nodded, barely perceptibly, but she did.

"Will you come with me to get it?"

A sudden mistrust flashed through the child's eyes.

"Will you promise to stay here, if I go and get it for you?"

This time a more perceptible nod.

"I'll be right back."

Barca walked back out the dark alley to find two impatient Jarls.

"What are we doing here?" Hamilcar asked.

Barca, ignoring him, rooted through his saddlebag to find the candy he had stored there. When he found it, he hurried back down the alley. The girl had held to her word, and was still where he had left her. He knelt, and proffered the taffy, which she took and devoured.

"I have a son" Barca said, when she was done eating. "He's much older than you. If you want, he can take you to get food, a real meal."

The girl eyed him warily.

"Nothing bad will happen to you ever again, I promise."

She eyed him warily. He offered her his wrinkled hand.

"Please trust me. I only want to help."

She didn't move.

"Please, Nimriel" he said, voice shaking.

She took his hand. He stood, and she did as well. And then she didn't. As soon as she stood, Nimriel crumpled; only her hand in Barca's stopping her from cracking her head on the pavement. A large bloodstain covered the belly of her tattered dress, something Barca hadn't noticed when she had been doubled over herself. At once, Barca's heart broke, and a fiery rage erupted in his veins.

"Hamilcar" Barca yelled. Hamilcar was there seconds later.

"Take this girl to Dragonsreach. Get her the best doctor or wizard the keep has to offer."

Confusion marked Hamilcar's face.

"Go, now."

Hamilcar scooped up Nimriel in his arms, and to his credit, he ran. The feeling of the little girls hand in his had left Barca shaking, quaking, burning with rage.

After Hamilcar's departure, Barca and Balgruuf went the rest of the way to the tree in silence. Balgruuf knew enough to notice the anger Barca didn't bother to hide. When they arrived, mortification replaced rage, and then added even more fuel to the fire. Two Bosmer were hanging from the tree: one male, one female. They looked like Nimriel; her parents, no doubt. There was also an Argonian. On another branch dangled a male and female Khajjit, and what were ostensibly their two children, whom Barca hadn't been able to see from the city wall.

Balgruuf had dropped to his knees. Silent tears rolled down his face.

"All the rage we expressed last night" he said in a choked voice. "All the plans we made for revenge for the atrocities of the Khajjit, the atrocities of the elves. And we're no better. These here had lived in Skyrim all their lives. These here had no part in the massacres. And we killed them. We murdered them in cold blood, because they look

like the monsters who slaughtered at Rorikstead and Falkreath and Dragonbridge. We're no better than they."

"You're wrong. We are better than those monsters. And we are better than this. You and I are going to get justice for those murdered here, just like we'll get justice for the fallen of Falkreath. What is the penalty for this under the law of Whiterun?

"The murder of seven? Forty years in prison, minimum. At maximum, being drawn-and-quartered."

"Let's make sure they get the maximum; every single person who was involved in this atrocity."

"Yes. And I'm going to commission a monument honoring these seven. I'll have my administrators find out their names."

"And we should inform the council. This cannot happen in Skyrim, ever again."

"No. It can't"


	3. Planning a War

The moon was at the height of its arc through the sky and the Council had still not gotten around to what should be done about the lynching. For fifteen hours, the Council had debated where to launch their invasion armies, and there was still no decision in sight.

Even after an earnest plea by three Jarls to address the underlying problems on display with the lynching, the Council had voted down the motion to postpone discussion on the war. They had even vetoed discussing the issue at the end of the Council.

Following the failed attempt to combat racism, Gunther forwarded a motion for any forthcoming votes on the issue of war to pass by a two-thirds margin, a motion Balgruuf seconded. This turned into a long debate, Barca fiercely arguing that a change in the vote requirement would require a revote on the decision to go to war, which passed with five votes in favor, four against. Ultimately, even after a long filibuster, Barca lost again, and the council moved on to the voting mechanism. After a two-and-a-half hours, a four-four stalemate had been firmly established. The two-thirds vote faction appealed to Barca, agreeing to add on a discussion of the lynching to the end of the council meeting in exchange for his support. Thus, the idea that all votes dealing with the war should require a two-thirds vote was ironically passed five-four.

Then, the group started discussing targets. Gunther, Ulfric, Rikke, Hamilcar, and Assengar each had their own idea of where they should launch their targets. Gunther wanted to strike the Dunmer hard and fast. March on Blacklight, storm the city, and then march south along the coast. They could isolate the Dunmer on the island from the Dunmer on the mainland. Then, they could launch an amphibious assault on Vivec. However, Hamilcar, the best strategist among those assembled, immediately pointed out the storming a citadel was always a risky business. A single man on the wall is worth twelve below it, and if Blacklight had a force as small as four thousand garrisoned, the expedition could lose as many as one man in two. And even if the Nords successfully managed to storm Blacklight, they would be heavily outnumbered by the Dunmer army, and if the Nords were stuck defending a fort on the canal, a fort they would need to defend if they wanted to construct the ships to cross the channel, they would be caught between a hammer and an anvil. They would be destroyed.

Ulfric wanted to run a torch and burn operation. He wanted the army to head through southern Morrowind, hitting Narsis, Fear, and Mounhold. Ulfric favored as few pitched battles as possible. Surround the city, burn the crops, plug the wells, and move on. But Hamilcar argued against a prolonged expedition against the Dunmer, claiming eventually the elves would figure out the Nords wouldn't hit any cities, and simply send their armies into Skyrim, forcing the Nords to retreat.

No, Hamilcar argued, the best plan was to launch a scorched earth campaign, hitting Narsis, Fear, and then moving south into the Black Swamp. They would torch a few Argonian settlements, and then move back into Morrowind, hitting Mournhold and Blacklight, before retreating back to Windhelm or Riften. Hamilcar speculated that if they can draw the Dunmer into Skyrim, and tie them up with a lengthy siege, then a smaller force could storm the cities of the Dark Elves, seeing as how the elven armies would be tied up elsewhere. Barca questioned the wisdom of antagonizing a massive army of elves before drawing them onto native soil, but if they could subdue the elves' civil governments, the generals would have to surrender. It could work, but it was an incredibly risky gambit.

Rikke and Assengar each had more original plans. The plans they proposed were unique because they called for a naval expedition. Rikke wanted to land on an island Northeast of Morrowind, and slowly and discreetly island hop, until they could strike the towns of the dark elves unexpectedly. Assengar wanted to take the fight to the Altmer.

The council had quickly tossed out Assengar's plan to invade the Sommerset Isles. But, by quickly, it was only quick by war council or Parliamentary standards. Gunther's plan was the next to go, but it was near evening before it did. The sun had set before the council had voted out Ulfric's plan. Had they not passed the Two-Thirds resolution, earlier that morning, Jarl Rikke would have won a long time ago. However, as it was, Hamilcar, Ulfric, and Gunther stood against her. Because Hamilcar voted for both Malkarth and Marthal, it was stuck at five-to-four.

"Your plan takes too long" argued Gunther. "It would take years for us to build the ships we would need to carry us to Morrowind. Meanwhile the Dunmer only grow stronger."

"We could have it done in nine months" argued Rikke.

"How?"

"We rebuild and expand sawmills destroyed during the war."

"With what money?" Gunther chimed in. "I don't know about Dawnstar, but I'm already spending money I don't have to rebuild the walls around the city. I can't tax the peasants because they have nothing, and if I order a tithe on crops I don't have anywhere to sell it. I know Ulfric has a little money, but not enough to fund your expedition and all the other holds are in as bad a shape as mine, or worse.

"We could sell the mills" proposed Barca. Each hold should have enough credit to build five sawmills. You could then loan the mills to peasant families. The families make money on the wood, it stimulates the economy of the hold, and the loan payments will pay back the builders, and the interest can pay for craftsman the ships, and maybe even some other things."

"There is another option", inserted Balgruuf. "If Rikke here is willing to take it." All heads turned to Balgruuf. Rikke looked at him suspiciously. "Our young Jarl here is young, quite beautiful, the head of arguably the least depleted hold in Skyrim, and unmarried. Meanwhile, in High Rock, the Lord of Jehanna, Dunlain, is has five sons. He has also alienated three of the neighboring provinces. His three oldest sons will certainly marry inside of High Rock, but if we could arrange a marriage, he certainly wouldn't pass it up. And we would have the money we need for the fleet."

"If we are going to arrange a marriage to one of the Breton houses, why would we not marry into Daggerfall or Camlorn? Wayrest would also be better than Jehanna" Assengar argued.

"The lord of Daggerfall is remarkably old. In fact, he has seen one hundred and four winters. He was also incredibly bad at forging alliances. His eldest son, sixty-nine, never married. His two daughters are both barren and past child-bearing age at sixty-six and sixty-four. There are also two more boys, sixty-two and fifty-eight. The lord of Camlorn is also well beyond his prime, at eighty-seven. His eldest daughter is past child-bearing age. His second is nearing that mark, and anyway is betrothed to the eldest son of the lord of Jehanna. The son is forty-three and betrothed to the daughter of the lord of Wayrest. Wayrest's lord by the way isn't much older than his soon-to-be son-in-law, at eight-and-fifty. He has twins, a boy and a girl, twenty-three, and a younger son, eighteen. I already told you, the girl is betrothed to the heir of Camlorn. The elder son is married to a daughter of Northpoint, the younger to the only daughter of Shornhelm. Any more questions?"

"Just one more" said Hamilcar. "How many daughters does this Lord of Northpoint have?"

"Seven" answered Balgruuf.

"If you'll indulge me one more time, how many of them are spoken for?"

"Five. And the two that aren't are fourteen and nine respectively."

"Then, if an alliance is the way to go, I think you've chosen the best one" conceded Hamilcar.

From there, it was clear Rikke's plan had won out. Now the debate shifted to which plan they would institute to pay for the ships. For an hour the Jarls argued back and forth, until Barca argued they do both. The group quickly settled on both.

Finally, Barca urged to adjourn the meeting until the next morning. It was after midnight, after only four hours of sleep the night before, and no one in the council had eaten since they broke their fast that morning.

And so it was in the morning the group would discuss the murder of Nimriel's parents.


End file.
